


In the Dust and Darkness

by HushTheNoise



Series: Darkness I Became [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-relevant mentions of inny bits, Dreamwalking, M/M, Memory Palace, Will finds himself somewhere comfortingly unfamiliar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HushTheNoise/pseuds/HushTheNoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Empathy leads him like a dog by the leash to dark corners of a mind he was never meant to enter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Dust and Darkness

       Even in sleep, his talent is a curse that follows at his heels, ferreting out images his consciousness has missed and making connections it never considered. It’s like a hunting dog that leads him by the noose around his neck, rather than the other way around, and Will often finds himself shaken awake with revelations that leave his bed soaked in sweat-- and sometimes more, to his utter mortification.

            As of late, though, he’s been more tolerant of his body’s inconvenient demand for rest-- eight whole hours, down the drain -- almost looking forward to it, even. All because of a single recurring dream that started months before.

            Well, at least he thinks it's recurring. It's a different room or hallway each time, but always the same colorful, frescoed walls that he trails respectful hands over, following the texture of the paint with his fingertips. The place is vast, with ceilings higher than Will has ever seen before, spacious and beautifully-lit, ethereal. He's never seen anything even remotely like it, and he wonders where in his mind such a place could be hiding. More than anything, he wishes he could go there in his waking hours.

            It didn't take him long to realize that the place was organized like a museum, with statues and paintings lining the halls and filling the rooms. He's come across several he recognizes; the Bronze David by Donatello, the Winged Victory of Samothrace, Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights, all works he's only seen once in his several months of exploration. He's seen other things as well, platters of food stacked next to books on wars and poets, reptiles made of precious stone delicately balanced on the backs of chairs... And other things, unsettling, bloody, twisted things that make his hair stand on end and his stomach churn, even as electricity ignites his skin with fascination.

            He has yet to tell Dr. Lecter of his palace, choosing to keep it his own beautiful secret for now. He sees no need to share it if it's not relevant in any way.

            On this particular night, he closes his eyes to find himself at the foot of a grand staircase guarded by a pair of bronze statues watching him solemnly. He pauses only for a moment to lay his hand at the feet of one of them, the chill seeping into his skin, before he ascends, eager to continue his exploration of the area and glad that the dreams of blood and bodies have decided to leave him be for the night.

            Will hesitates for a moment at the top, torn between going left or right and knowing that whichever way he chooses, the other may very well be lost to him forever.

            Something inside pulls him to the left, and for once he follows his instincts willingly.

            An endless hallway, doors upon doors upon doors, and he allows several to pass him by before he finally reaches for one and peers inside with an open curiosity he thought had been burned out of him years ago.

            A library this time, lined with books that reach to the ceiling, the warm, musty scent of aged paper beckoning to him more than the impeccably organized displays he's encountered before. He steps inside, taking in the quintessential chair by the roaring fireplace, before stepping to one of the shelves and tracing the spines with his fingers. They're cracked, worn, as if they've been read over and over, the words breathed in so often that its reader must surely have them seared into their mind by now.

            A myriad of the books are in languages he can't read, though he can make out some of the titles here and there with his two years of highschool French. The ones in English seem to span across a wide range of topics, car mechanics guides to neurosurgical textbooks, gourmet cookbooks from the south of France and dusty children's books in a language he can't even recognize.

            They seem to be organized, but not in any way that Will can decipher. Of all the things in the palace, this library intrigues him most. It's his dream, his mind, his subconscious creation... These books are full of knowledge and information that he's never had, so where did it all come from?

             He could honestly spend the entire night in there, immersed in the sound of turning pages and crackling spines, but there are an infinite number of rooms to see, an entire, unending hallway to walk down.

            _Miles to go before I sleep_ , he thinks with an ironic chuckle that the palace seems to echo.

            He walks on, passing one door after the other, something in the back of his mind pulling him further, _leading him_ somewhere. He doesn't look at the frescoes splashed upon the walls now, the scenes of which have grown increasingly gruesome in content. Will has seen some things in his lifetime, but hounds dragging a still-conscious body by its disemboweled entrails proves to be a bit more than he can handle.

            Now he only looks straight ahead to the shadowy end of the hall where the light seems to follow, almost as if it's being absorbed, crushed into nothing. To Will, it's mesmerizing.

            Within the shadows, the door to this room is of unremarkable wood, so old and weathered that Will feels the splinters threaten to break his skin as he pushes to be allowed inside. The door swings back effortlessly and Will doesn't see the dark splatters that stain the grain at his feet.

            His skin prickles as a bitter chill seizes him, and he's struck with the overwhelming urge to turn around and flee, forget this room, forget this entire place and run to the safety of nightmares.

            A small round table sits in the room, the only item in the dimly lit room besides the ivory box that rests on top of it. His hand reaches out, fingers hovering just short of the portrait of a young girl etched on the lid...

            "Curioser and curioser..."

            The voice is not his own.

            Will snatches his hand back as if he's been burned, whirling to find Hannibal Lecter's passive gaze on him, hands tucked neatly behind his back. The room has grown impossibly cold and Will begins to shiver.

            Four months wandering in and out of rooms, of walking down hallways and through courtyards, four months and he's never so much as glimpsed another human soul. He can't begin to fathom what on earth would possess him to manifest Dr. Lecter _here_ of all places, and now.

            Lecter takes a step toward him as Will opens his mouth to speak--

            "--What the _hell_." The words are lost on the pile of canines slumbering peacefully on his bedroom floor as Will is yanked painfully into consciousness, and he looks to the ceiling for answers he knows won't be forthcoming as he lies on the sheets and reclaims his breath. He briefly considers telling Dr. Lecter about the events of the dream, though he's not certain he's ready to handle whatever interpretations the psychiatrist might have to offer just yet. Upon checking the clock on his night stand, Will decides that's clearly all the sleep he'll be getting. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he breathes a quiet groan before heading for the shower.

            Across the city, Hannibal Lecter sips at his tea and considers that perhaps it is time for some remodeling. 

**Author's Note:**

> I researched all I could on Lecter's memory palace and family history but pickin's are slim so... be merciful. Also just starting to get my toes wet in the whole horror and gore genre, so hopefully the next installments will be more colorful.


End file.
